


Both of Us Got Clumsy

by oppisum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oppisum/pseuds/oppisum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexpected injuries sustained on a hunt threaten the well-being of Dean's already-scarred soul, and Castiel is willing to go to any lengths necessary to save his friend, even if that means exposing his grace. But when a link unintentionally forms between them as the result of the angel's healing, Cas has to face the reality of his feelings for Dean and the possibility of giving up what he desires most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both of Us Got Clumsy

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for... soul sex? I don't even know at this point. Thanks to Badsamaritan for betaing this back in March.

 

It was going to be reconnaissance, Dean had said. Nothing he and Cas couldn't handle on their own. In theory the plan was childishly simple: Cas would mojo them into the mystery monster’s nest; they would look around and get the lay of the land before leaving to return at a later date with the appropriate weapons.

In practice, however, the plan had been many things, but simple hadn’t been one of them. One shapeshifter turned out to be three drekavacs, and their hearing turned out to be good enough to detect the faint shift of invisible angel feathers. Now Dean lay bleeding in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen floor, Castiel having poofed them back as soon as he could get two fingers to Dean’s forehead. Even so, there had still been time for a drek to rip the hunter’s chest open and insinuate its oily magic.

And so they now lay on the cracked linoleum, Cas clutching Dean’s broken form, both covered in blood. Human blood, angel blood, drek blood – It doesn’t matter. The blood isn’t the problem; the blood Castiel can fix.

No, the problem is the black magic of the drekavac slowly leeching its way through Dean’s soul like an amorphous cloud of dread, of sorrow, of loss, of every dark emotion known to mortal and immortal alike.

The discord of Bobby’s and Sam’s concerned shouts is static in the background as Cas runs his gore sullied hands over deep gashes, tapping his power reserves to knit skin and sinew back together. The action is a nauseating parody of when he first freed Dean from perdition and rebuilt his body carbon atom by carbon atom.

It’s just a surface fix, though. Beneath flesh, deeper than marrow, a parasitic, poisonous magic is still working to destroy the man from the inside out. Castiel knows what he can do, knows how he can save Dean from the darkness set on consuming his precious life-force. He also knows that it would mean opening himself up in a wholly new and terrifying way, allowing a vulnerability that he has never experienced in all of his millennia of existence.

It’s frightening and unknown, and it’s no choice at all. Castiel would bare his grace a thousand times over if it would keep Dean’s soul intact.

A barrage of heated words from Bobby and Sam fills the poorly lit room, but time doesn’t allow for the luxury of answering panicked questions.

“Get out. Shut the door, and do not open it if you wish to retain your vision,” the angel grits out, gravelly voice buzzing in a way that says it’s only just clinging to this side of human.

The older man looks ready to protest, but Sam grips him by the upper arm and forces him out, mumbling something about Cas knowing what he’s doing.

Which is not entirely true. Never before has the angel mingled his grace with another presence, not like this. Sure, once upon a time he had let the barest edge of it meld with that of his brothers to form the hive mind of the garrison, but he has never felt the urge to wrap another being protectively in it and bask in the intimacy of the connection the way others of his kind did. Or, at least, _hadn’t_ until he met Dean.

A small part of Cas relishes the chance to be so close to Dean, but he quickly tamps that down. This is for healing purposes only. He will not invade Dean’s privacy any more than absolutely necessary, not when he knows Dean would never desire so close an association were the circumstances otherwise. Besides, Dean’s soul will be huddled defensively in an attempt to keep the drek’s magic and the angel’s foreign presence at bay. Castiel will expose his grace to drive out the insidious magic, but Dean’s soul will still be a walled off entity, not allowing the grace too close. Cas will be fully open; Dean won’t. It‘s that simple. True intimacy only comes when both spirits are bare.

Still, the angel wishes Dean were conscious to give his approval. Without the other party’s express permission such a personal connection is the greatest form of invasion. However, Cas would rather face Dean’s ire for the intrusion than run the risk of the magic causing irrevocable damage to Dean’s already cracked and tattered soul.

Castiel’s hands have already held that tortured soul once, felt the fluttering warmth of it curl into his palm and seek shelter from the racks of hell. But that had been quite different than what was about to happen, the angel knows. The flight back from hell had merely been two incorporeal spirits in each other’s otherwise-isolated presence, not a deep connection where one party was entirely exposed.

There is no more time to think, though.

Castiel allows the vast existence of his true form to pour out of the shell of Jimmy Novak, carrying the matter of his corporeal body with him instead of leaving it an uninhabited vessel in Bobby’s kitchen. Since Jimmy’s demise, Cas has been tied to his Earthly form in a way unlike any angel before him. Cas had lived, however temporarily, as a human, and it had changed him permanently. He now knows free will, knows both the joy and the sorrow of unobligated love, knows the sweet anguish of having the one he loves carry on entirely unaware of his affection. But that, the angel reminds himself, is how it should be.

His presence floods the room entirely, careful not to bleed out into the rest of the house. Like this he can see the luminous glow of Dean’s soul swirled with the inky taint of the drekavac’s magic. Carefully, oh so carefully, the angel cups the dimming soul, raising it from the bonds of its body and into himself, holding it between fluctuating layers of grace.

The soul flutters hopefully at the first touch of holy presence but doesn’t uncurl from its protective curl. The shadows surrounding it attempt to flee into the uneven cracks littering Dean’s spirit, but Cas will not have it. He dips his presence in closer, not just surrounding the soul but also filtering into the gaps to force the magic out. It isn’t difficult to smother the evil _thing_ once he has it trapped. It seeths for a moment before collapsing in on itself like a dying star and vanishing from Earth’s plane.

Castiel takes a moment to relish the sight of Dean’s soul, still grasped protectively in his open grace, and starts to withdraw. He knows he should. Knows, but still can’t bring himself to leave the newly reopened wounds in the elder Winchester’s mottled soul to heal on their own. If left unattended, they‘ll bring back the nightmares Dean has only recently begun to escape and stir up dark memories that have otherwise started to acquire a distant, dreamlike quality.

Almost of its own accord, the angel’s grace moves closer once more and sends healing tendrils towards the huddled soul. He sooths the ache of the gashes, acting as a balm to help them heal over. Though they will heal, their scars will never entirely fade. Dean likely doesn’t know how close he came to becoming a demon in hell, but Cas does, and it makes his being ache to its very core. He understands the significance of the fissures and scars littering the man’s soul.

As he starts to pull away, something unexpected happens. The soul uncurls from its shielded ball, moving up into the gentle touch of grace. That atmosphere of the exchange sifts completely. Castiel understands that he needs to retreat, that this is meant to be clinical, not intimate.

Then Dean is there, conscious and confused and aware of his surroundings despite their unfamiliarity. A physical, human panic not his own courses through Cas’s being. Dean’s not sure where he is or what’s going on, only knows that there’s something much larger than himself all around him, against him, _inside him_ at points. He wants both to flee and to move closer all at once, terrified of the massive presence but also irresistibly drawn to it. Dean’s sudden shock at being incorporeal is almost tangible.

Castiel feels all of this, and even as better judgment screams for him to move away, to put Dean back into his body and go back to his own vessel, he extends a thought like a tentative hand to a deer.

_It is I._

Dean understands instantly, calming down enough to recognizing the familiar presence wrapping around him like a comforter. _Cas?_ He asks, but there’s really no need. He can’t see, not really but, God, can he ever _feel_. He can feel Castiel’s grace open to him like a warm invitation on a frigid night.

Now Cas really does begin to withdraw, his original aim clearly accomplished, but is halted by Dean’s soul uncurling the rest of the way, opening itself to the intense flood sensation. Cas knows he shouldn’t allow it, not when the other man doesn’t fully comprehend what he’s doing, but the knowledge isn’t enough to make Cas end the connection.

Dean’s soul moves even closer, closing the modicum of space there had been between them and pressing itself into the grace. And oh, _oh_ , that is… unexpected. A sharp, bright pleasure shoots through the angel, reverberating like an echo as he feels it move through Dean as well.

In that moment they are entirely open to each other as neither has ever been before, melding into one entity. The pleasure heightens and peaks as the contact coalesces into a single link that bonds itself to both soul and grace.

Somehow – and Cas would never for the life of him be able to recall how – both man and angel wade through the afterglow to reclaim their corporeal forms. Dean sits up, one hand pressed to his forehead and the other running over the tatters of his shirt. “What was that?”

And Cas feels his confusion. _Feels it._ Physically, like a secondary extension of his own emotion.

Reality crashes around the angel like a hail storm. A waterfall fills Castiel’s ears, and all the blood drains from his face. Such an oddly physical response to internal horror, he thinks detachedly. Being human really did change him permanently.

“Cas?”

Castiel draws in a deep breath that his body doesn’t need and forces his voice to stay steady as he says, “The drekavacs attacked you. That was the only thing I could think of to stop their magic from consuming your life force. They feed off the energy of souls.”

“Okay, but what was it, ‘cos that really didn’t feel like a normal round of ‘let’s kill the evil thing hiding out in Dean’?”

“I wrapped your soul in my grace. That was the only way I could ensure that no piece of the drekavacs would be left within you.” This time Cas’s voice shakes, and he feels that Dean can hears it. He can also feel the other man’s dawning comprehension. Oh, God.

“Dude, did we just have soul sex, or something?”

“No- Ye- Not exactly. I-” He draws another superfluous breath. “I did not expect your soul to respond as it did. I misjudged, thinking it would consider my grace a foreign threat and remained closed off. Obviously, it did not. It can only be assumed that you unconsciously recognized my presence from the trip back from hell and opened to it instinctually. This would not have been a problem had my grace not already been fully open to you, allowing the two to… mesh.”

“So, we, like... angel mated?” Dean asks incredulously, looking shaken.

Castiel inspects a bubbling patch of linoleum. “I apologize. It was not what I intended, you must believe me. The process is not one I had experienced before, so I was unsure how to stop it once I understood what was happening. I am so sorry. I would never have dared-”

“Cas,” Dean says, cutting the angel off. “You saved my life – soul, whatever – again. Thank you. And if that required a bit of freaky soul meshing, so be it. Just a onetime thing, right? No big deal.”

The words feel like a punch in the gut even if they’re better than Cas had dared expect. At least Dean isn’t angry. But it _is_ a big deal. A very big deal, and not one Dean can ever find out about.

Castiel must make some kind of pained noise, though, because Dean’s eyes narrow. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Cas schools his face into something that’s not agony, and if his voice is a little tighter than usual, there’s no helping it. “There was an unintended side effect, a link forged between us, if you will. A bond.”

“’A bond’?”

“It is nothing I cannot fix. I can break it, burn it out.” The words alone feel like someone is trying to rend both Castiel’s heart and grace in two. He can’t do this right now, can’t stand here a moment longer. “Just-- give me a few minutes. I must gather my strength again before I do so,” he lies.

The angel staggers jerkily to the door, ignoring Dean’s concerned calls as he flees out into the fresh evening air, too shaken to even fly. He clamps down on the free-flow of emotions between them, stifling the bond as best he can at the moment.

The cars of the salvage yard line the path he paces. A sick, cloying feeling eats at his insides. How could he want to keep the bond? What had he been thinking, letting the union happen? What choice had Dean had, really? Of course the human’s soul had been drawn into the blinding pleasure of a connection with pure angelic grace. Besides, Dean does not love him, not as anything more than a friend.

_But_ , a small, selfish part of Cas whispers, _Dean can_. That’s what the bond means, that they can be happy together, ridiculously, nauseatingly happy. That’s what a bond is: A symbol that they’re perfectly compatible, that they’re _soulmates_.

Castiel shakes himself. It isn’t Dean’s fault that the connection had produced a bond. It isn’t something Dean could have helped or even likely wants. It isn’t his fault, either, that Castiel has wanted him in a decidedly non-platonic way for over a year now.

Than angel looks defiantly up at the clear sky from between the towers of rusted cars. “Father! I know You’re there, somewhere; do not even pretend You aren’t. You’ve brought me back to life twice now. Why? Why would You do this? I never thought Your sense of humor was this sick.”

Rationally, he knows it won’t do any good, shouting at a God who may or may not be listening, but it makes him feel somewhat better. Also, anger is easier. Ignoring the anguish of giving up the bond isn’t as difficult when Castiel focuses on his anger.

“Okay, yes, I have made mistakes; please forgive me if this whole free-will thing isn’t as easy as it looks from up there, but really, do I deserve _this_? To be given the one thing I want above all else, to have it right here in front of me, and to not be able to take it?! I know You are many things, but I had never thought cruel was one of them.”

The angel knows he’s shouting now but can’t bring himself to care. He holds his arms out in a frustrated gesture and keeps his eyes locked on a passing cloud that looks decidedly too cheerful.

“This was not my fault! I was merely trying to heal him, not bond to him. He would never have known, if it was up to me, and he still won’t, if I can help it. I am not going to let this hurt him any more than it has to. Dean needs never know.”

Further ranting is cut off as a gruff voice asks, “Dean needs never know what, Cas? ‘Cos you know what, I think there’s still a whole lot that you’re not telling me here.”

Dean steps out from around some of the heaped cars, arms folded stonily.

“At first I couldn’t figure out why it felt like I was sitting in Bobby’s kitchen having a panic attack hot on the heels of one of the best experiences of my life, but then I realized: These are your emotions, not mine. It feels like someone’s trying to rip my heart – or, well, _your_ heart – out through my nose. Cas, this bond thing, what does it mean, really?”

Cas turns his gaze back to the sky as he answers. Looking at Dean right now is more than he can handle. “The way I connected our spirits, your soul and my grace, is the highest form of intimacy between two angels. It is not uncommon for a permanent connection to form between two angels as a result, but it is almost unheard of for such a bond to form between an angel and a human. Few, if any, humans have ever had an angel expose its grace to them, and to my knowledge none of the pairs has ever bonded.”

“But what does this bond _do_ , exactly? What does it signify? You’re dodging the question.”

An intense, unreadable emotion burns in Castiel’s blue eyes as he rounds on Dean and forces himself to make eye contact.

“Humans would call the bond the mark of a soulmate. For all intents and purposes your soul now bears my name and mine yours.”

Cas looks at the ground.

“I swear, I in no way meant for the connection to turn so— _intimate_. I only initiated it with the intent to protect your soul from the damaging effects of the drekavac’s magic. But then you awoke, and instead of shying away from the touch of my grace as I expected, your soul moved closer and I-” the angel cuts himself off and breathes deeply. “I let it, Dean. I made a mistake. This is my fault and my burden to bear alone. The link can be erased. There’s no need to worry; it will not hurt you. I will not let it.”

“You say it wouldn’t hurt _me_. What will breaking it do to you?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, but when he looks up his eyes are full of a timeless sadness. He considers not responding at all but thinks better of it. Dean deserves to know the truth. Cas closes his eyes and loosens his restricting grip on the flow of shared emotions.

A maelstrom of emotions sweep through the bond like a premonition. Roiling waves of loss and emptiness. The gutting sensation like a phantom limb. The beautiful misery of an angel’s cry. An all-consuming love that will never be redirected.

Castiel chokes down on the link before any more sensations can slip through. Humans, even one bonded to an angel, are not meant to withstand the sorrow of an immortal. Human emotions temper over time; even the sharpest misery and anger dim when left well enough alone, but not so with angels. An angel’s true sorrow, just as its true love, will always be there. The pain can be pushed aside and ignored, but it will always be just as sharp as the day it first arrived.

“Would it be so bad, being bonded with a human?” Dean’s voice is rough, like the words were being forced out of him. “I mean, are you really saying that you’d rather suffer-- suffer _that_ , than be bonded to me?”

Again, pain crosses Castiel’s face. “It would be wrong of me to allow the bond when your feelings are so drastically different from my own.” Then understanding strikes him, and his eyes soften. “Dean, this bond is not a platonic thing, surely you see that. I love you and want you in ways I can never have, that I have no right to ask of you. The pain of knowing that you are with others while the bond is still intact would be far worse than just severing it before it has time to grow.”

“Who says there has to be others, huh? I mean, I know I may not have the whole all-consuming-angel-love thing yet, but didn’t you say we’re, like, soulmates now – the one, the only? Won’t it, I don’t know, get stronger with time, or some shit like that? I thought that was how most soulmate links worked. Besides, isn’t that how all relationships work? Not that I’m an expert, mind you.”

“I cannot have you settling for a bond you do not desire just to spare me pain,” the angel says, eyes downcast.

“Would you listen to the words coming out of my mouth?! Maybe that’s not all I’m doing.” Dean waves a hand vaguely before continuing, “You don’t just wake up one day and go, ‘Oh, I’m in love,’ and that’s the end of it - you’re love for that person is maxed out. No, you work at it, Cas. You learn that person, learn how to love both their good and their bad. And, ideally, you love them more as time goes on.”

Castiel is ready to scream, but whether in pain or frustration he doesn’t know. “You want a normal life, kids and a wife, and I can never give you that.”

“Normal is overrated.”

“Dean, just because I am marked as your soulmate, that doesn’t make you incapable of falling in love with someone else.”

“What, like you are?” Dean shoots back.

The angel ignores him, even if the truth of the words sting. “Besides, how long before you start to question if you were coerced into something, tell me? I remember your response to the knowledge that heaven influences soulmates to maintain bloodlines. If you are not even remotely attracted to me now, but soon find yourself desiring me or falling in love with me, will you not worry that it is merely the effects of some magic you do not understand?”

“You think I’m not attracted to you, that I don’t love you?”

That brings Cas up short.

“Anyways, this isn’t heaven playing matchmaker for the unaware. So far as I can tell, my soul chose to latch on to your grace like some overly clingy spider monkey and your grace liked it enough to roll with it. We picked each other – just, you know, in a very weird, metaphysical, soul-sex kinda’ way.”

Dean steps in closer, breaching the angel’s personal space in a way that the angel could distinctly remember being told was improper.

“What’s it gonna’ take to get it through that thick, feathery skull of yours that I want this? Yeah, I think it’s scary as fuck, and maybe I’m taking a blind leap off the edge of a cliff, but _I want this_. Maybe for once in my life I want to take the good thing that standing right in front of me. I have an angel who, for some unknown friggin’ reason, is in love with me. Maybe I don’t want to let that go. Maybe I know that I can love him right back.” The back of Dean’s fingers brush across Cas’s cheek, dry skin catching slightly on stubble. “That is, if he’ll listen long enough to understand and quit being an idiot.”

“I don’t... I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” the angel breathed out.

Dean is close, impossibly, terrifyingly close. Cas is so torn between fleeing and closing the last of the distance that he remains frozen to the spot. Green eyes hold blue as Dean leans closer still, leaving bare inches between them.

“I’m saying,” Dean breaths, “that I’ve loved you for a long time, Cas. Maybe it wasn’t always in the way you love me, but it is now. First you were me rescuer, and part of me thanked you for that. Then you were my friend, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I’d never loved anyone other than family, not really, but suddenly I found myself caring for the stiff angel in the ratty trench coat. And before I knew what happened, you were family, at least in all the ways that matter. And now...“ He takes a deep breath.

“Now I don’t know,” Dean admits, leaning his forehead against the angel’s “I care for you, but not in the way I care for Sam or Bobby. I don’t understand this, Cas, not really. This is usually the part where I run and don’t look back, and that’s just when I’m dealing with women. _Human_ women. All I know is that I care for - no, not just care - _love_ you in a way that makes me want to do this.”

That’s all the warning Castiel gets before lips are on his, soft and light. Not a demand, but a question. One Cas answers by bringing a hand up to rest at the nape of Dean’s neck and leaning further into the warmth of the taller man’s body.

The kiss deepens, and he feels Dean’s tongue brush his bottom lip. And okay, yes. Millions of years watching humanity have made him more than familiar with the theory behind kissing, but actually kissing someone, _being kissed_ , is far more overwhelming that he ever would have imagined.

But then, maybe the burning swoop in his chest has little to do with the act itself and more with the person he’s with and the bond between them.

As if on cue, Castiel feels a shiver of sensation down the link between them. Out of instinct, he tried to block foreign feed of pleasure and emotion. Dean breaks the kiss, moving only far enough to breath, “Don’t, Cas. Let it happen.”

The angel hesitates for a moment, remembering all the reasons why this is a bad idea, why he shouldn’t let the bond flourish, but Dean is right there, one hand on his cheek and the other tight around his waist, and suddenly, all of those reasons, all of the what-if’s, are nothing compared to the importance of what he has right in front of him.

Castiel smiles into another kiss and lets his hold on the bond slip free.

It’s like flying, he thinks, and knowing that someone will catch you if you fall.


End file.
